


crack up (fake deep)

by reddisk



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, School Dances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 05:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5731681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reddisk/pseuds/reddisk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>they hate each other, they raise an egg, they don't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	crack up (fake deep)

He’s pretentious. High school is a sea of obnoxious individuals, but he takes the fucking cake, there’s nothing about him that doesn’t reek of trying too hard to be subtle about trying too hard. Karkat knows this, okay? He shares a good number of his classes with Dave Strider, he knows him about as well as one could feasibly know a kid they’ve been learning with since kindergarten.

Dave Strider’s an asshole.

Karkat’s willing to yap about this for months, years, decades, centuries, millennia. Dave Strider’s the most basic human being you could meet in a school setting. He’s a white boy with the sort of angelic blond hair that most people would have to professionally dye for. And, like, these little freckles all over his arms, his nose, his neck. Tan like he spends his days frolicking in local sunflower fields. He slouches intentionally, he never takes off those god awful sunglasses with the golden rims.

You might assume Karkat’s jealous, and maybe that’s true. Not the point. No, the main idea of this story is that Dave Strider is the most arrogant human being to ooze out of his mother’s genitalia.

And that’s that.

* * *

 He’s always irritable, constantly, never in his life has this asshole taken a break from getting himself riled up. Dave’s never felt as much emotion in his entire life as Karkat Vantas feels in his index finger on a day to day basis. There’s no reason to blow an artery over some commentary during a Chemistry lesson. Seriously, where is the anger management therapy for this poor unfortunate soul, it’s sorely needed.

Karkat Vantas is a douchebag.

Dave can’t force himself to give a crumb of a shit about the majority of people, but it’s hard to ignore Karkat Vantas. He’s loud, he’s tall, he’s gangling. All you have to do is spare him a glance, and he gets an expression on his face like a dog just decided to lift its leg over his sneakers. It was a miracle his friends even put up with him. Who wants to spent their time listening to some wad of cold snot complain about everything to cross his path?

Maybe Dave’s just holding a grudge about all those times Karkat ratted him out in elementary school, he won’t deny that. Does it matter? Karkat’s still a capital F Fuckhead, and Dave isn’t going to bother defending himself when it comes to this guy.

So, don’t bother asking again.

* * *

Every high school likes to dump responsibilities on their students, especially when it’s comical.

Sophomores live in fear of their Junior year, the semester in which they’re given a child to take care of for Psychology class, a simulation. Dave doesn’t like babies. Anything that shits its own pants has got to go.

Fortunately, they mistook the explanation; they’d be given an egg.

Of course there has to be another layer of primordial suffering, so they’re assigned parental partners to play mommy and daddy. Dave sinks a little lower in his seat.

The number of boys and girls isn’t even, so the teacher cracks a joke about ‘Cautionary Homosexuality’ and adjusts some of the groups. A pair of girls, and then himself and Karkat Vantas.

It’s funny, so he rolls with the joke. “Shit, Vantas, come to daddy,” he calls across the room.

Karkat makes that face. “You must be out of your fucking mind if you think we’re going to share this overgrown cumstain.”

“It’s a chicken egg.”

And, just like that, they have a baby.

* * *

“So, I’ll take it over the weekends, and you can have it any other day.”

“Do you understand the concept of fractions?”

“I’m an educated man.”

“What’s the difference between five-sevenths and two-sevenths, shitlips?”

“Alright, damn.” Dave offers the egg a blank stare. The teacher signed it to ensure they couldn’t replace any cracked eggs. “Let’s leave it in a drawer somewhere. We can’t break it if we don’t get our hands on it.”

Karkat puffs out a sigh. “Can you be a responsible father?”

“You’re in too deep, Vantas. It’s on the intellectual level of a fucking Cabbage Patch Kid.”

“Just because you can’t handle the results of your genetic material doesn’t mean you can leave our son to flounder in the actual, literal dumpster.” It’s a little weird, holding a conversation with Dave. He isn’t enjoying himself.

“He’s not my son. That baby’s black.”

Karkat tosses the egg at Dave’s head, and Dave ducks, which results in their son flying over the railing of the staircase. It breaks against the floor.

* * *

 

Fortunately, their Psychology teacher is an okay sort of guy, and he replaces their egg. It’d only been six minutes, after all. They didn’t even have a chance to grow attached. Their last egg, though, so Karkat doesn’t have any more opportunities to lob his second-born at Dave’s rat face.

“No more fucking around, I can’t afford to fail a class as easy as Psychology. Don’t you lay a toe nail on Geromy.” Dave pops his locker open and pulls out his sweatshirt.

“Geromy? That’s the best you can come up with? I thought you loved your son.” Karkat’s leaning against the wall, staring down at the egg.

“It’s a cultural reference.”

“Okay, fuck, whatever. Shut your mouth. I can’t stand the slop that comes trickling out of your orifices.”

Dave Strider and Karkat Vantas are, without a doubt, the wordiest people in the entire school. The former of this dynamic duo, Dave, takes the egg and plants a kiss upon it. Then he takes a Sharpie and scribbles a face on it.

“You piece of fucking, put that _down_ \- “ Karkat makes a mad grab for the egg. “What kind of face is that?”

“It’s humor through artistry, stop riding my dick.” Dave tries to skirt underneath Karkat’s arms.

“I am not riding your dick! I’m nowhere near the ride, the train isn’t even at its fucking station, _you’re corrupting our son!”_ Geromy looks like a genetic abomination.

“Nice.” Dave’s pleased. Karkat opens his mouth, and closes it.

* * *

 

They get a seventy-two as their final grade. After a week of being the best daddy duo in their school, it’s hard to hop back into things. No one complains when Dave takes a seat at Karkat’s lunch table.

* * *

 

Karkat’s lucky. He has a good dad, a comfortable house, and enough food. Dave raids their fridge like he’s searching airline luggage when he visits, and Karkat can’t even force himself to care.

They’re on the floor of Karkat’s bedroom. Dave’s feet are kicked up on the bed, but his back is against the carpet, sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Karkat watches.

“It’s like, why should I bother trying to put on this aloof face throughout everything I do for the sake of living up to the expectations of some asshole who couldn’t be bothered to raise me like a functional human being? Why do I even care?” Dave finishes. He’s been going on for a while.

“Your daddy issues are severe, and you’ve been doing it since we shared a kindergarten class, so don’t think- “

He’s wearing Karkat’s shoes. “Chocolate or vanilla?”

“Chocolate. Stop asking questions to derail me, dipshit, I’m on to something.” Karkat doesn’t say anything else, though. Dave kicks off the shoes, then he switches on the television.

* * *

“Who’re you asking to the Winter Ball?”

“I’m saving this schlong for the prom, motherfucker.”

“So, nobody.”

* * *

 

Dave stares down at the sidewalk. Karkat’s next to him, holding an umbrella above their heads. It’s pouring.

“Check out all the worms,” Dave says. They’re all being washed up from the mud. Dozens.

“Fucking amateurs. Can’t even swim.”

“Don’t got arms, bro.”

He watches them, too. “Maybe we’re all just worms. Armless and squishy.”

“You’ve been out in the rain too long.”

* * *

 

They’re walking home from school, and they find a stray dog. It’s a dusty sort of brown. The ears are floppy, the paws are white, and it has a limp.

“Dude, that thing can have syphilis, don’t touch it.” Karkat is refusing to hop over the fence and check it out.

“I don’t care about STDs, life is a figment of our imaginations,” Dave says, and he reaches over to pat the dog.

“Shut up.”

“You can’t even disrespect this dog. It’s, like, the smartest dog. The coolest dog. The alpha dog.” Dave leans down to scratch its ears, and Karkat starts to drift closer. “Man, this dog is so motherfucking sly, it’s the mayor of this entire town. Stuffed the ballots.”

“Fuck. I can’t believe this. I disrespected the mayor of my own town. I could go to jail.”

Karkat takes the dog home with him, and it’s healthy after a month of vet appointments. The name sticks. Dogs, they learn, aren’t as fragile as eggs.

* * *

 

Karkat’s face is in the pillow. He just woke up, and it is Saturday. He has fifty-two notifications from Dave. He smiles.

* * *

 

Dave doesn’t ask anyone to dance. Instead, he drinks punch and stares at his shoes.

Everyone’s dancing. Drifting, steady tiptoeing on the dancefloor, uncertain hands ghosting on hips. It’s strange to watch. Everyone’s making their own memories, and he gets to see it happen.

Unfortunately, although the statement seems deep, in actuality it’s about fourteen different kinds of pathetic. Karkat’s sitting at table number seven. His tie is crooked.

Dave stands, and he walks over. “This is boring as all hell.”

“Yeah. If I hear another top forty hit, I’m going to tear out a rib.”

“Let’s roll. Ditch this popsicle stand.” He grabs his things and drives himself and Karkat to the nearest fast food place.

Wendy’s is a restaurant that no one decides to eat at unless they are faced with limited opportunity. They order through the drive-thru, and Dave slops his Frosty down the front of his suit.

Karkat licks his spoon. “We should do something. See a movie.”

“Yeah, no more dancing. Dancing is a hobby for people with too much to be happy for.” He elbows Karkat, and Karkat elbows him back.

There’s a pause. Has there always been this much sexual tension? Dave feels like he’s being broiled.

Suddenly, Karkat clears his throat, and he turns in his seat. “Hey,” he begins.

He gets a feeling like he’s in for the long haul. “Yeah?”

“So, I mean, we’re two dudes. Guys. Being dudes, just guys, and I would hate to drive a stake into our dynamic duo. This is the shit. Like, damn, we are just two absolute hunks with too much sheer animal magnetism in our genetic codes.”

“Yeah, man. I had about three squirrels humping my calf the other day.”

“I’m gay. Or, like, probably. I don’t think gender dictates whether I’m hard.”

“Me too, maybe. I don’t know.”

“Yep.”

Dave feels like if there’s anyone who would follow up a dual de-closeting with the word “yup,” it would be Karkat Vantas. “Should we do something?”

Karkat unbuckles his seatbelt, starts to lean. Dave pushes their mouths together. It’s not the same as lip gloss and soft edges and long hair to the waist, but he doesn’t mind.

 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me @reddisk on tumblr i make noise


End file.
